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angry cackle, and Joe began to retreat. Just then he slipped on the ice and lost his footing, falling right in the angry penguin’s path!

10 The Sno-Cat
    The penguin snapped at Joe with its beak and flailed at him with its stubby wings before he could finally scramble clear and retreat.
    â€œSaved by the bell!” Frank laughed. “Want to go a few more rounds with the champ, Joe?”
    The younger Hardy boy gingerly tested a sore spot on his nose where the penguin had nipped him. “No thanks!” he groaned. “I’m hanging up the gloves after this one. What got into that critter anyway, Professor?”
    Muller chuckled. “They’re usually tame, Joe. This one must be an exception.”
    â€œThat penguin got up on the wrong side of the nest this morning,” Frank quipped, “and he just didn’t want to have his picture taken.”
    â€œLet’s look at the Antarctic vehicles,” Muller suggested.
    The three walked over to the helicopter. The Hardys noted it was just like the choppers they had flown at Bayport airfield except for the skis.
    â€œThat’s the way to travel down here,” Frank said. “No mushing over the snow. ”
    Muller nodded but cautioned, “If you boys ever go up, look out for the wind. You might get blown off course. ”
    â€œWe’ll watch out,” Joe promised. “Who wants to crash-land at the South Pole?”
    â€œAnyway, we do most of our traveling in these vehicles,” Muller continued. He pointed to the machines standing near the helicopter. “Motor toboggans and Sno-Cats.”
    The toboggans were long, narrow vehicles, open on all sides but protected from the Antarctic blast by a windshield mounted on the front. They were propelled by a motor connected to revolving chains with cleats on either side. The cleats biting into the ice diminished the danger that the chains would spin instead of moving the toboggan.
    The Sno-Cats looked like trucks for hauling heavy cargo except that the four wheels were replaced by tractor treads.
    â€œThis is the workhorse of the Antarctic,” Muller commented. “It has four-wheel drive—or I should say, four-tread drive. Each tread can be operated independently, enabling the driver to maneuver over rocky terrain, through deep snow, and past crevasses where one tread may be hanging over the edge. Well, now you’ve seen all our equipment. We might as well go in.”
    The pleasant aroma of cooking wafted from the galley as they entered, and the chef beat on a small, copper gong.
    â€œChow time!” he called out.
    The scientists and naval personnel began streaming into the dining room where long wooden tables were laid with dishes and cutlery. The men sat on makeshift benches made of planks nailed to crossbars extending from the tables at each end.
    The Hardys found themselves sitting next to a youth about their own age.
    â€œI’m Bob Field,” he introduced himself. “I’m a freshman with a scholarship in geology, so I’m spending a year at Byrd Base. Actually, I was at Outpost I, but they ordered me and another student to come back here.”
    Frank and Joe questioned him about his work at Outpost I.
    â€œHow long were you there?” Frank asked. “My brother Joe and I find it pretty bleak in this icy desert. I bet after a while it gets to you.”
    â€œIt does,” Bob admitted. “But the work’s extremely interesting. I’ve been doing research on core samples. We’re using the uranium method.”
    â€œWe’re familiar with that,” Frank said. “All rocks contain uranium, which turns into lead at a very slow, steady pace.”
    â€œAnd the amount of uranium in relation to the amount of lead gives you a fix on the age of the sample,” Joe added.
    The three continued a lively discussion of Antarctic rocks. Then Frank asked Bob if he did anything else at the base.
    â€œPart-time